


put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song

by cordsycords



Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pre-Embrace, Songfic, and Post-Embrace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 06:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20616590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordsycords/pseuds/cordsycords
Summary: The Coterie + music.





	put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my bullshit. This is the fourth fic I've posted to Hozier lyrics. Title is taken from _To Noise Making (Sing)_.
> 
> Read the notes at the end for song choices + why I chose them.

**_50 years_ ago**

The music settles heavily in the air among the throng of moving bodies, jumping up and down as ones, singing with a single voice. It’s as heavy as the intertwining smells of weed and sweat that poured into her lungs, giving her a high almost as potent as her earlier dose of shrooms. She knocks into others, elbows connecting with stomachs, fists hitting foreheads, lips finding another’s to press against. There’s no care here, in the middle of nowhere, with half a million of your closest friends.

She’s singing the words to songs she can’t even remember, shouting until her voice grows hoarse and her throat begins to ache. The drugs and adrenaline are the only things that keep her moving, dehydration and hunger slowly setting in, yet both relegated to the back of her mind for things far more important than her simple body. She lost the others in the crowd hours ago, but she doesn’t care for them either. Later she’ll claim that she was taken by the music, forced away from her friends by the hypnotizing melodies of psychedelic guitar.

In truth, she hopes they don’t find her, not for a while, actually. She’s waiting for something, someone, one that only appears in the mystery of night, a woman that enraptured her from the very first night of the festival. It’s the second night, and she wants to see her again.

They meet after midnight, in a small patch of woods by the bathing lake where people go to have some privacy. She finds the tree where they met the first night, surrounded by the sounds of those in ecstasy around her. The festival still goes on over on the other side of the fields, the opening bars of CCR echoing through the air, a faint hum in the background.

“Hello, Evangeline. It’s good to see you again,” Katya says from the darkness, startling her. She turns around in a flash, lifting up her flashlight to look at the other woman. She’s dressed differently from the previous night, less black leather and metal, replaced with black lace and dark jeans.

“Hi,” she whispers into the night as Katya approaches her, walking right up to her so she has to turn her head up to look into the other woman’s eyes. Katya reaches for the flashlight, turning off the light so that there’s nothing left to see as she cups Eva’s face and brings her in for a kiss.

She gasps at Katya’s touch, cold and smooth as marble, yet her lips are soft and yielding. Her arms wrap around her waist, pulling their bodies closer together, and she can feel Katya smile into the kiss. She smiles back, bringing their bodies down to kneel on the ground and then to lie next to each other, cradled by the dry grass. Katya’s lips never leave her skin, it’s like she doesn’t need to breathe as she sucks bruises into Eva’s neck, murmuring words in multiple languages between each one.

_I put a spell on you_

_Because you're mine_

She can hear the words at the back of her mind, behind the moans and soft sighs of the two of them, tangled within each other’s arms, clothing falling askew and then thrown to the ground when it’s caused too much frustration. Things move fast, far too fast for her to correctly process the decisions she’s made or their eventual consequences.

Too late to go back now.

_You know I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you anyhow_

_And I don't care if you don't want me_

_I'm yours right now_

** _25 years ago_ **

She’d never thought she would find herself going to a club alone. That’s right. By herself. On a Tuesday night. Despite the unfashionableness of it all, however, a night at a club is well deserved.

Fuck Katherine.

Fuck Dan.

Fuck them both and both of their pretty fucking faces.

She practically throws her (fake) ID at the bouncer, scoffs when he even asks for it and stomps her way inside after he nods her through. Surveying the dance floor on the way to the bar, there are enough people here that she won’t be noticed if she does something stupid.

She slams a twenty down in front of the bartender, “Tequila.” The man takes it, and within the next thirty seconds, she has four shots sitting in front of her, along with a glass of lime wedges, and a shallow dish of salt. She ignores the lime and salt, quite intent on getting drunk as quickly as possible, and downs the four shots, one right after the other.

Another twenty down on the bar. Another four shots.

She loves the way it burns.

The beat of the music calls to her, heavy and pounding, with a good bass that draws her to the floor, pushing through to the centre of the crowd. If she’s going to dance then everyone should look at her. She closes her eyes, lets the music flow through her, moving her body, arms and legs. Others reach out to touch her, and she slaps them away, ignoring everything and everyone to just feel. Trapped in her own mind.

_How does it feel_

_To treat me like you do?_

_When you've laid your hands upon me_

_And told me who you are?_

_Thought I was mistaken_

_I thought I heard your words_

_Tell me, how do I feel?_

_Tell me now, how do I feel?_

The song goes on for what feels like hours, or maybe it's only a few minutes, or maybe it’s several songs that sound exactly the same. But, eventually, she realizes she’s _still_ not drunk enough, making her way back toward the bar, albeit on slightly shaky feet. She searches through her purse for another twenty, interrupted when something shuffles in next to her.

“Tequila, for the lady, if you please,” she hears him shout over the crowd, accent distinguishing him from everyone else.

She scoffs, turning her head to tell him off, “Thanks, but no--”

Bright yellow eyes smirk down at her, and she is suddenly placated, all anger towards him dissipating.

“Thank you,” she finishes.

“You are very welcome, my darling.”

** _17 years ago_ **

Even in the shade of the awning, it’s still hot. Victor rests on one of the reclining pool chairs, sweating like a pig even in shorts and a t-shirt. His cast itches, distracting him from everything else around him, but still not distracting enough to get his mind off the pain.

“Hey! Dad! Watch this, Dad, watch me!” Markus yells from the other side of the pool, bouncing up and down on the diving board, waving his arms in the air and he jumps up and splashes into the pool. The water sprays his cast, and he quickly reaches to wipe it off with a towel before covering it completely.

Not helping with the heat.

“That’s a good one, bud, good job,” he shouts, distractedly.

“Me next, dad!” Isaiah shouts, jumping in after his brother, determined to make an even bigger splash than before. He definitely succeeds, soaking the towel covering his cast.

He sighs, “Remember what I said about the cast, guys? Daddy needs to keep it dry. So, keep the splashing to a minimum, okay?”

“‘Kay dad!” The twins chorus in unison.

“Thanks,” he lies back down again, closing his eyes and attempting to block out everything around him. The boys, thank goodness, actually listen to him, and they’re back to just swimming without trying to drown each other. His leg might be killing him, but this is the most time he’s spent with the two of them in years, so he shouldn’t complain.

The silence should have tipped him off that something was amiss, but he’s still surprised when out of the quiet emerges two high-pitched warrior-like shouts, followed by the feeling of getting tackled by two six-year-olds. He jumps up from lying down as Markus and Isaiah jump on top of him.

The air gets knocked out of his lungs as one of the boys land wrong, hitting his legs in its cast. The pain shoots from his leg, up through the rest of his body, leaving him paralyzed for a moment before the feeling comes rushing back. He jolts, breathing through it, tears at the corners of his eyes.

The boys rush off of him. They’re talking, but he can barely hear them.

“Dad?”

“Dad, are you okay?”

“Did we do something wrong?”

One of them puts a hand on his shoulder, the other presses a palm to his forehead, “He’s not sick.”

He finally regains the ability to speak, “Ah-- pool time-- pool’s done, guys. Dry up. Go-- go find your mom, for me, okay?”

“Okay,” They reply, running off to grab their towels.

He gets up, grabbing his crutches, making his way inside the house as quick as he can, past the kitchen and living room, to his office. He shuts the door behind him, all but collapsing on the leather couch. He reaches over to turn the radio on. The boys must have been in here at some point, because it’s not on a station he listens to, nor is it a song he recognizes:

_Everything you say to me_

_Takes me one step closer to the edge_

_And I'm about to break_

_I need a little room to breathe_

_'Cause I'm one step closer to the edge_

_And I'm about to break_

Nevertheless, the words are accurate.

** _6 years ago_ **

Boxes on the floor surround him, some open, others closed, others empty with their contents strewn across the floor. His desk is a ship of order amongst the chaos of moving across the country, the only thing neat and tidy in their small two-bedroom apartment. He’s bent over the heavy architect’s desk, focused on his work as Chloe cooks dinner in the background. He doesn’t know exactly what she’s making, but it smells good.

She likes to dance around the kitchen as she works, puts the radio volume up when she hears a favourite of her and sings the words into a wooden spoon as she moves about, chopping vegetables and stirring pots between bouts of off-pitch singing. At the moment, it’s Prince, though she doesn’t know all the lyrics, murmuring what she doesn’t know until she gets to the chorus:

_Ain't no particular sign_

_I'm more compatible with_

_I just want your extra time and your--_

_Kiss_

He looks over through the doorway to the kitchen, watching as she tips her head back, flipping her hair as she belts into her make-shift microphone. She catches his gaze, smirking in his direction. Next thing he knows, she’s singing at him, making her way to him with sashaying hips and a playful smile. She still doesn’t know all the words to the song, but she makes up for it with passion, finally pressing a kiss to his lips once she’s made his way over to him.

“What are you doing?” He asks as she continues to dance.

“Seducing you. It working?”

“No.”

“Guess I have to try harder then,” she teases, going back to whatever she thinks dancing is. It’s a mess of limbs and goofy expressions, more akin to her playing an intense game of dodgeball than any sort of elegance or, god forbid seduction. She can’t sing as high as Prince does, but she sure as hell tries.

It’s ridiculous. And goofy. And stupid.

And, god, he loves her.

By the end of her rendition, she’s on the edge of laughter, cheeks turning red, hair frizzing up from when she was flipping it all over the place, chest heaving as she catches her breath.

He grabs her hand, pulling into her lap. His chair creaks from the extra weight, leaning backwards, but he’s quick enough to compensate, putting a hand on her thigh to steady her as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Success,” she whispers into his ear. He presses his lips to hers to silence her gloating.

Dinner burns.

The smoke alarms goes off.

They order a pizza instead.

** _8 months ago_ **

She’s on her fifth cup of coffee by the time the microwave clock blinks past three in the morning. She’s seconds away from pulling out her hair, pouring over her notes for her exam in twelve hours. The words blur together on the page as she curses herself for not going to as many lectures as she should have had, for putting too much time into the activism group, for having any sort of hobbies at all.

She holds her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes tight as the tears begin to well up. It’s been a while since she’s had a good cry, and she sobs into the quiet apartment, holding a hand to her mouth to quiet herself, worried about waking Ellenore up.

She wipes her tears with the cuffs of her sweater before they stain her notes. Her eyes puffy and raw, she goes back to reading, and re-reading, and reading some more…

She barely notices the strumming of chords on an old untuned ukulele, almost sure that it’s some type of exhaustion-induced hallucination before she looks over to see Elle standing in the door to their bedroom. She’s wearing a long plaid shirt that goes to her knees, half-buttoned up her chest, holding the old ukulele in her hands, bought on a whim from a thrift store even though neither of them can play the damn thing. She sticks her tongue as she places her fingers in the right positions on the fretboard, strumming a chord and then moving slowly onto the next one. Annabelle watches as she finally gets a hang of it, adding lyrics to the instrumental:

_Don't you worry, there my honey_

_We might not have any money_

_But we've got our love to pay the bills_

Elle’s vice rasps after just being woken up from sleep. She stumbles over the words a bit, trying to focus on playing the ukelele and sing at the same time, while slowly walking toward Annabelle, gaze switching from looking at their girlfriend to the fretboard, to her fingers pulling at the strings. The whole process is utterly endearing, no matter how many times she gets the chords wrong. By the time she’s sitting in the chair next to Annabelle, she’s forgone the ukulele completely, singing the final choros without it as Annabelle breaks down into tears again.

_Oh, let's get rich and buy our parents_

_Homes in the South of France_

_Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters_

_And teach them how to dance_

_Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain_

_Making everybody look like ants_

_From way up there, you and I, you and I_

Annabelle surges forward, awkwardly wrapping herself around Elle’s seated body as she breaks down, burrowing her face in her girlfriend’s neck, inhaling her scent as Elle’s arms go around to her back, slowly rubbing up and down.

“Hey, babe,” Elle rasps.

“Hi,” Annabelle sobs into her skin.

“What’re you doing here?” Elle asks, lifting her hand to card through Annabelle’s notes, trying to grasp what’s gotten her so stressed.

“Stats.”

“Ah.”

“Fuck stats.”

Elle laughs, “Fuck stats. You tired?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, babe, come to bed, let’s go, they’ll still be there tomorrow,” she grabs Annabelle by the wrist, pulling her up to standing and allowing her to lean on her as they shuffle back to the bed. Ellenore pushes her into the mattress, helping her take her jeans off in favour of sweatpants. By the time Elle gets in under the covers next to her, she’s half-asleep, descending peacefully into a deathlike rest.

“You’ve such a pr’ty voice,” she mumbles as she turns over, attaching herself to Elle’s side.

She feels the press of lips against her forehead, “Thanks, babe.”

** _Now_ **

She’s strung out, stressed and pushed to such emotional exhaustion that he’s surprised she’s kept it together so well. First, there was his whole situation and resulting rescue, which he can blame on himself and readily does so, but he can’t do anything about Strauss and Katya. There’s so much there that he doesn’t know, she keeps it all so close to her chest he can only guess what traumas she’s faced since before they met.

She shrinks in on herself, huddling beneath her shawl, wrapping her arms around herself for protection. Sure, she’s shorter than him and quiet and soft, but she’s never been _small_ in his eyes except, perhaps, for now.

Eventually, however, the night does have to come to an end. He leads her through the observatory, down emergency staircases and past exhibits to a nondescript maintenance door in the sub-basement, mysteriously unlockable to any of the security guard's keys. She opens the door with a key she hangs around her neck, unlocking it and pushing through. He stays out in the hallway, watching her go until she suddenly turns around to look at him.

“Jasper I-” she stops and starts several times, unable to look him in the eyes as she tries to get the words out, “You can come in.”

He nods, “Okay.”

She opens the door a little wider and he follows in after her, shutting the door behind him as she wanders in. He’s never been here before, and he takes a second to look around. It’s smaller than his haven, her things crammed together, hydroponics filled with herbs sitting stop of bookshelves and milk crates, Christmas lights and unburned candles providing some kind of atmosphere to an otherwise monochromatic living space.

She goes to sit at the edge of her bed in the corner, staring off into the middle distance, lost in her thoughts. He doesn’t really know what she wants him to do, how she needs him right now. He walks over to her bookcases, reading along the spines, starting from the top until he gets to the bottom shelf, surprised to find no books there, but instead a large row of vinyl, and an old record player.

Somehow, he’s not surprised. She’s given hints about the time she spent as a human, this is just one more thing to remember it by. He sits cross-legged on the floor, bringing the record player out, wiping away a layer of dust that it’s accrued. He leans over to a nearby outlet to plug it in, then starts going through the records to see if there’s something he’ll recognize. There are The Beatles and Hendrix, Bowie and Elton John, CCR and a whole collection of others, some in better condition than most. Halfway through the stack, he finds one he’s listened to before, or, rather, his mother did.

The song he remembers the most is the second track, and he struggles for a second to get the needle in the right place. Presses the play button, the previous song finishes it’s last chord before the record crackles and switch to the next track:

_Starry, starry night_

_Paint your palette blue and grey_

_Look out on a summer's day_

_With eyes that know the darkness in my soul_

He crawls over to her, kneeling in front of her, trying to look her in the eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing her hands, “You ever see a Nosferatu dance?”

She chuckles despite herself, looking up at him, “No.”

“C’mon,” he gets up from the ground and pulls her up with him. He leads her left hand to sit on his shoulder, and puts his right at her waist, clutching her right with his left. She shuffles closer so that she can lean against them, and sway together with the beat. It could hardly be called dancing, there’s not much grace to their movements, though there’s something comforting about sharing such close space, moving together, as one.

_Starry, starry night_

_Flaming flowers that brightly blaze_

_Swirling clouds in violet haze_

_Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue_

_Colors changing hue_

_Morning fields of amber grain_

_Weathered faces lined in pain_

_Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand_

He feels the vibrations of her voice against his chest, quietly singing along as they sway, dry and raspy after such a long night. He joins in whenever he can, whispering the words like a secret to be kept between the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> You know when I first thought of this fic, it was supposed to be a lot happier. Hozier's song is a lot more triumphant than this fic ended up being.
> 
> Anyways, songs in order of appearance
> 
>   * **Eva & Katya: I Put a Spell On You - Creedence Clearwater Revival**: Yes, I know the Nina Simone version is better. But CCR actually did play this song the second night of Woodstock between 12-12:30am so y'know, accuracy. I put a spell on you, they're Tremere, it makes sense. Next.
>   * **Nelli: Blue Monday - New Order**: The unedited version of this song is over 7 minutes long and it really has a great beat, perfect for dancing in the club in the early nineties, though it came out a decade earlier. When the lyrics finally show up at the 2-minute mark, you barely notice they're there, but they kind of punch you in the gut when they do. Some good foreshadowing for Nelli, too
>   * **Victor: One Step Closer - Linkin Park**: After Victor's basketball injury, but before Temple of Boom. This was definitely the hardest song choice I had to make, especially since I don't think Victor and I listen to the same music. Victor is a character that is very concerned with identity, especially with what others perceive his identity to be. So, if he loses part of that identity, what does he do? He obviously builds a new one, but he needs a little push in that direction.
>   * **Jasper & Chloe: Kiss - Prince**: This song is fun to dance too, and it's impossible to sing, perfect for a goober like Chloe (she's serious about dodgeball y'all) to seduce her professionally monotoned boyfriend.
>   * **Annabelle & Ellenore: You and I - Ingrid Michaelson**: This song is cute, short, and hopeful, just like Annabelle. Sometimes life sucks, and you just need to get away from it. Doesn't matter where you are, as long as you're with each other, everything will turn out fine.
>   * **Eva & Jasper: Vincent (Starry Starry Night) - Don McLean**: Since it's me, I kind of have to put some Jeva in there. This song popped into my head because it evoked the ending of their Season 3 epilogue, and I think it just relates to Eva really well. The way the lyrics evoke thoughts of colour and darkness. The life-long quest of suffering to find beauty in the world that doesn't really have any. I'm making myself tear up. Anyways, listen to it. Cry with me. You're welcome.


End file.
